


Far Away Into The Silent Land

by icebluenothing



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icebluenothing/pseuds/icebluenothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words left unsaid sometimes have a way of being heard. A post-Doomsday story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away Into The Silent Land

Jackie stared helplessly.  
  
Rose  _was_  out of bed -- that was something, at least, if only it weren't nearly three in the morning. She'd pulled her suitcase out of the closet, tossed it on the bed, pulled open all her drawers. She was grabbing clothing and frantically filling the bag -- she didn't seem to be paying any attention to what was grabbing, and the suitcase was already so full there wouldn't be any way to close it. There was a fevered, manic edge to her movements.  
  
"Rose? Love, what's going on?" Jackie said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.  
  
Rose looked up. "Mum! Good, you're awake -- we need to go!"  
  
"Go where, sweetheart?"  
  
"We've got to go back. Back to Norway. I'm having the dreams again, I  _heard_  him, he's so close this time -- "  
  
"Oh, Rose, are you sure?" Jackie stepped into the room, trying to intercept her daughter's tight erratic orbit between the closet and the bed.  
  
"Mum, please, I've got to pack, there's no time -- "  
  
"Rose. Rose, listen. Look at me." Jackie caught her shoulders, made Rose look her in the eye. "Are you  _sure?_  Are you sure this was one of the same dreams or -- maybe, you were just dreaming, this time?"  
  
Rose flinched as if Jackie had slapped her. She stared wide-eyed, confused and lost, as if the words didn't make any sense. Then realization set in.  
  
"You were, weren't you?" Jackie said gently. "You were just dreaming."  
  
Rose burst into useless tears.  
  
"There, there, love," Jackie said, pulling her close and stroking her hair. "I know. I know."  
  
"I'm so sorry," Rose said between sobs. "I'm sorry I woke you."  
  
"It's all right. Do you want to come downstairs? I can make us a nice cup of tea. We can talk about it."  
  
"No," Rose said. She dried her eyes with a wipe of her hand, sniffled the last of her tears away. She grabbed hold of the suitcase and hauled it and her clothes onto the floor. "I just want to go back to bed."  
  
 _That's all you seem to want, anymore,_  Jackie thought, but she thought better about saying it. "All right. We can talk in the morning," she said.  
  
"Okay," Rose said, although they both knew they wouldn't.  
  
Jackie turned off the light and told her good night when she was back in bed, but she stayed in the doorway and watched her in the dark for a moment longer.  
  
 _We can't go on like this,_  Jackie thought.  _I've got to call someone._  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
"She wouldn't talk to you, either, then?" Jackie said, as Mickey came back downstairs. She was sitting in the kitchen, and she poured him a cup of tea as he came in.  
  
"Not a word," Mickey said, taking it. He sat down. "She wouldn't even look at me. Just shook her head no whenever I said anything." He blew on the tea and took a small sip. "How long's she been like this?"  
  
"More than a week. Ever since we got back from Norway, really. I'm at my wit's end. She won't eat anything, she won't get out of bed."  
  
"Are you worried she might -- "  
  
Neither one of them wanted to say it.  
  
"I don't know," Jackie said. "I hardly want to leave the house in case something happens. Pete thinks we should make her see a psychiatrist, but -- " Her eyes darted upward, and she lowered her voice. "She's not going mad, our Rose. She's just not happy. And I don't know what to do for her." She shook her head and refilled her own tea. "Thank you for trying."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's Jackie Tyler for you, innit?" Mickey said, grinning. "Forever calling you up to ask you to come fix something."  
  
Jackie laughed. She hadn't laughed in days. "Well, this is a bit more complicated than fixing a dishwasher," she said.  
  
"Yeah, it is." Mickey looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he put his mug down, leaned forward, and said, "Listen, Jackie, what if -- what if I told you I had something that might help her?"  
  
"I'd say, wonderful," she said.  
  
"Yeah, but -- what if I said it might make things even worse?"  
  
"I don't see how they could be any worse," she said, even though they both knew they could. "It's worth trying, whatever it is. I'd try anything at this point." She drank her tea. "So what is it?"  
  
He hesitated. He took a deep breath. And then he told her.  
  
Jackie's eyes got wider and wider.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
"Anything yet?" Jake shouted.  
  
Mickey shoved aside fallen beams, bits of roof, and pieces of rubble. He shook his head and tightened his grip on his hard-hat. "Nothing yet. Try it again."  
  
Jake nodded. "Stand well back," he called out.  
  
"Don't have to tell me twice," Mickey muttered, scampering out of the way as Jake started up the bulldozer again.  
  
The bulldozer started to plow through the ruins again. After a minute, there was a tremendous sound of metal on metal.  
  
"Whoa! Whoa!" Mickey shouted, even though Jake couldn't hear him. He waved his arms and made sudden cutting gestures across his throat. "Kill the engine!"  
  
The bulldozer died down. "That it?" Jake shouted.  
  
"I think so! Come help me!"  
  
Jake hopped down and the two of them started clearing away the debris in front of the bulldozer. In the middle of the pile, there stood a safe, knocked over to an awkward angle.  
  
"There we are, then," Jake said. "Now, do we need to get someone down here who can crack this open? Or some high explosives?"  
  
"Settle down, Jesse James," Mickey said, grinning. "I know the combination. Or I should still know it, anyway." He knelt down next to it and started to spin the dial.  
  
"What was this place, anyway?"  
  
"A garage. I used to work here. Well, back in the other world, I did." He kept spinning it, blowing dust off of the numbers. "I snuck in here after we got back from Paris. The place was already abandoned, so I didn't figure anyone would mind." He pulled on the handle. "Huh. No, that's not it."  
  
"I take it," Jake said drily, "the building was still standing at the time."  
  
"Well, yeah. I thought we were done with the Cybermen, so I thought it'd be safe here. Who knew, right?" He tried another combination.  
  
"So what is it we're after?" Jake said, crouching down next to him.  
  
"Hang on -- got it." He opened the safe with a flourish and reached inside.  
  
He pulled out a thin, slightly battered envelope, and his face lit up.  
  
"This," was all he said.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
"Rose? Mickey's here to see you again. Isn't that nice? He's got something for you."  
  
Rose didn't say anything. She just pulled the blankets a little tighter around herself and slid a little closer to the wall.  
  
Jackie and Mickey exchanged a look, and then he stepped into the room.  
  
"Hello, Rose," he said, and he sat down on the bed next to her. He reached out and stroked her unwashed hair. He half-expected her to flinch away from his touch, but she didn't react at all. That was almost worse.  
  
"I've got a letter for you," he said. "At least, I think it's a letter."  
  
She said nothing.  
  
"It's from the Doctor."  
  
Rose slowly turned over to look at him.  
  
"Right, yeah," she said slowly. "'Cause the interdimensional mailman popped by, did he?"  
  
Mickey grinned. "Something like that, yeah."  
  
"Did you -- did my mum put you up to this?" Rose propped herself up one elbow and stared at him, barely glancing at the envelope in his hand. "Did you write it? Or did she? Because this is just mean. And stupid." Her eyes were filling with tears. "Because I'm not, I'm not  _twelve,_  I don't need a letter from Father Christmas -- "  
  
"Rose. It's real. Here." He held it out.  
  
She took it, frowning. Then she looked down at it, looked at the handwriting:  
  
 _To Rose Tyler. Deliver by hand._  
  
She reached with her other hand to open it, then stopped, afraid to touch it, like it might blow away like dandelion seeds.   
  
She looked up at him and, nearly whispering, said:   
  
"How?"  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
Four years before and a world away, Mickey Smith was alone in the garage where he worked, sweating and cursing under a beat-up old Ford that should have been put out of service years ago. It seemed to be determined to drip as much oil onto his face as it could while he attacked it with a wrench.   
  
He nearly hit his head when he heard the sound of the TARDIS engines. He slid out from under the car and stared up at it as the light faded and the noise died away.  
  
 _That was fast,_  he thought. It had only been days since they'd left after Christmas. Their visits weren't usually this close together.  
  
He stood up, dusted himself off, and was wiping his hands with an oily rag when the door opened and the Doctor stepped out.  
  
"Here for a tune-up?" Mickey said, grinning. "Mind you, I might have to order out for the parts."  
  
The Doctor smiled back. But there was something wrong and broken about the smile.  
  
Mickey's own smile slid off his face. He stared past the Doctor into the impossibly huge and empty interior of the TARDIS. "Where's Rose?" he said.  
  
"She's gone," the Doctor told him.  
  
Mickey didn't even think about it.  
  
His fist lashed out and struck the Doctor's jaw. The Doctor fell backward, grabbing at the doorframe, falling to the ground.  
  
"I knew it!" Mickey shouted. "I knew this was gonna happen! You always said you'd bring her back safe, and this time you didn't, did you? Did you? I trusted you!"  
  
"Mickey, please don't shout," the Doctor said, rubbing his jaw and wincing. "She's safe. She's fine. She's just not  _here._ "  
  
"Oh." Mickey the Idiot.  
  
"She's just not with me anymore."   
  
The Doctor tried to stand up and Mickey reached out a hand to help him. "Thanks," the Doctor said as he stood. "You didn't have to  _hit_  me," he added.  
  
"Sorry," Mickey said. "So -- what happened? You two get in a fight or what?"  
  
"I almost wish we had. But no. I've just -- she's somewhere I can't reach."  
  
Mickey looked past him again. "I thought this machine of yours could go anywhere."  
  
The Doctor smiled fleetingly. "If only."  
  
Mickey looked at his expression. "I'm never gonna see her again, am I?"  
  
"No, you -- you get to see her. Just I can't."  
  
Mickey thought about it. "So when did all this happen?"  
  
"From your point of view? A few years from now."  
  
" -- Should you be telling me all this, then?"  
  
"Well . . . . " The Doctor scratched the back of his head and looked thoughtful. "I'm not  _breaking_  the Laws of Time, exactly. Just bending them a little. Besides, it's not like there's anyone to stop me, is there?"  
  
"Guess not," Mickey said. "So -- why  _are_  you telling me all this?"  
  
"I need you to do me a favor."  
  
"Here it comes," Mickey said, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
"No, it's a simple favor. I need you to hang on to this for me." The Doctor reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope.  
  
Mickey started to reach for it, then stopped himself. "My hands are filthy," he said. "Hang on."  
  
"Take your time," the Doctor said, leaning against the TARDIS.  
  
Mickey washed up, dried his hands on a wad of paper towels, and came back.   
  
He looked at the Doctor's expression. The Doctor was just leaning there, his eyes closed, just looking --  _tired_  didn't begin to cover it. Rose had told him once that the Doctor was hundreds of years old, and right now, looking at him, Mickey almost believed it.  
  
"You all right?" Mickey asked.  
  
The Doctor opened his eyes wide, looking for a split-second like he was remembering where he was, what he was doing. Then he focused on Mickey and smiled. "Of course I'm all right," he said. "I'm always all right." He held out the envelope again.  
  
"So what is it?" he asked.  
  
"It's for Rose," the Doctor said. "It's something she'll need. Don't give it to her until after the day at the beach, all right? That's important."  
  
"The day at the beach," Mickey repeated.  
  
"You'll know when the time comes."  
  
"So, important stuff, yeah? Fate of the Earth and all that?"  
  
"Oh, no," the Doctor said softly. "It's much more important than that. Hold on to this, all right? Keep it perfectly safe." He held it out, then held it back slightly when Mickey reached for it. "I'm trusting you, Mickey."  
  
"Not yet, you're not," Mickey said pointedly, hand still extended.  
  
The Doctor smiled. He put the envelope in Mickey's hand.   
  
"Oh -- and be absolutely certain you don't mention this to anyone until then, all right? Not Jackie, not Rose, not to me. Especially not to me. Got it?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Do the words 'predestination paradox' mean anything to you?"  
  
"I think so . . . . "  
  
"Well, do the words 'great big nasty bat-like things with sharp teeth and claws coming to kill you for perverting the course of history' mean anything to you?"  
  
Mickey stared at him. "Yeah, I think I get that one."  
  
"Well, trust me when I say one leads to the other, so -- mum's the word."  
  
"Right. Okay."  
  
"After the beach."  
  
"After the beach," Mickey agreed.  
  
"Good man." The Doctor smiled awkwardly. He stared at Mickey for a long moment. Then, to Mickey's astonishment, he reached out and pulled him close. "Goodbye, Mickey Smith," he said.  
  
Before Mickey could say anything, the Doctor let go, turned away, and stepped into the TARDIS and shut the door.   
  
Mickey watched the TARDIS fade away, trying not to think about how final that had sounded.   
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
"Well, go on, then," Mickey said. "Don't you want to see what it says?"  
  
Rose made herself look away from the envelope and look Mickey in the eyes. "Yeah. I do. Could -- could you just give me a minute? Alone?"  
  
"Oh." Mickey looked startled and guilty. "Oh, yeah, sure. I'll just -- I'll be downstairs if you need me."  
  
Rose smiled for him, and he smiled back. He gently let the door swing shut behind him, and it didn't quite close. She got out of bed and latched it.  
  
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  _I don't half look a mess,_  she thought.  
  
She looked back at the envelope. Sat down, disbelieving, at her desk. And opened it up.  
  
A single white sheet of paper, rough letters on it that looked like they'd been pounded out on an uneven old manual typewriter:  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  


> `  
> rose:`
> 
> `if you're reading this, it means my daft idea worked. good old mickey. `
> 
> `who knew two minutes would go by so quickly? if i could do that one over again, i'd plan out what i was going to say a little better. `
> 
> `i don't give second chances. that's not the kind of man i am. maybe that means i don't deserve to get second chances, either. but just in case i do, i wanted to say goodbye properly, this time.`
> 
> ` ~~i've always~~ `
> 
> ` ~~i wish we could~~ `
> 
> ` i don't know how to do this. i'm not good with words. maybe i was, once, but i'm not now. i thought of asking old bill shaxberd what he thought i should say, but he'd just tell me to write you a sonnet and sonnets are rubbish anyway. all that iambic pentameter. i mean, really, who needs it?`
> 
> `maybe i should start this over. or maybe i should just`
> 
> `hang on. i have an idea. i'll be right back.`
> 
> `okay. i'm putting something else in the envelope with this note. you should recognize it. it's that slightly psychic paper of mine. well -- half of it, at any rate.`
> 
> `i don't know if this will work. i could tell you about quantum entanglement and resonant telepathic fields, but the truth is i'd just be guessing. `
> 
> `but i've been staring at it for hours now, thinking about everything i wanted to say to you, everything i wished i knew how to say. maybe it'll come through. i'm going to keep my half -- and maybe from now on, when i'm thinking about you, you'll be able to see it. i don't know. i hope so. maybe it'll work the other way as well. think about me sometimes, won't you?`
> 
> `i know i told you this once before, the last time i had to let you go. it seems like we're always saying goodbye, you and me. but i still mean it.`
> 
> `have a fantastic life, rose tyler. i don't want to think of you waiting for me on a beach in sweden or wherever it was. i want to think of you out in the world.`
> 
> `a fantastic life. remember that. forget everything else.`
> 
> `-- me`
> 
> ``

  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
Rose read it over three times, eyes blurring. She wanted to look in the envelope, see if the psychic paper was really there, but she was scared to, in case it wasn't. In case -- he'd forgotten to do it, or it had gotten lost somehow, or --   
  
She finally grabbed the envelope, tipped it end up, and the tiny white slip of paper came tumbling out like a snowflake.  
  
She picked it up, running her fingers along the new rough torn edge. She thought she could feel something besides the paper -- some vibration, some tingle like static electricity.  
  
The paper was blank. It hadn't worked. She smiled at that, one simple dark bitter smile. It was a nice idea. She was so glad he'd tried --  
  
Wait -- there. A trick of the light, or --   
  
Letters, appearing slowly, as if written by an unseen hand from somewhere far away. The same handwriting as on the envelope.   
  
Three simple words Rose Tyler had never gotten to hear.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
There are a thousand different kinds of crying.  
  
Ever since Bad Wolf Bay, Rose had been crying, and nothing ever came of it. That kind of crying was like quicksand. It was like the kind of dream where you're running and running from the monsters and somehow you're still in the same place -- the kind of crying where you don't feel any better afterward for having done it.  
  
That's the kind of crying that you think is going to break you, is going to kill you, but it never does. You don't think you have any tears left in you afterward. But you do.  
  
After Rose read the Doctor's letter, she cried. She cried for real.  
  
These were the tears she'd been holding on to, the ones she couldn't let go of until now. These tears are different. These tears flood out of you, and take everything with them. Like a poisoned wound bleeding itself clean.  
  
She read the letter, over and over again. And said her goodbyes.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
Mickey was walking home by himself, kicking at a little stone on the pavement, catching up to it and kicking it again. He'd spent the day tracking down job leads and coming up with nothing.  
  
He had a little money left, still -- Pete had loaned him some to get by on, and Mickey had insisted that it  _was_  a loan, that he was going to pay Pete back as soon as he got a proper job -- but it was getting harder. The economy hadn't quite recovered from the Cybermen, and what jobs there were got snapped up quickly.  
  
He thought about calling Jackie when he got back to his flat. See how Rose was doing. Then he thought better of it. He hadn't heard anything from them the past couple of days, since he'd brought the letter by. Rose had fallen apart so badly that night, he didn't think any of the Tylers would be talking to him again any time soon.  
  
So he was more than a little surprised to find Rose Tyler waiting for him on his doorstep.  
  
"Hey," she said, grinning.  
  
"Rose!" He stopped dead, just looking up at her. "You're -- " He didn't know what to say next. "You're out of bed."  
  
"Oh, you noticed that, did ya?" She grinned even wider.  
  
He just stared at her for a moment, until he started to smile, himself. "Hi," he said.   
  
"Hi," she agreed. "So, you gonna ask me in, or what?"  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
He'd gotten them both a beer and they sat on the couch, the only piece of furniture he owned besides the bed.  
  
She had the envelope with her. She didn't show him the letter. But she had it with her.  
  
"You kept this for me. All this time. And you never said a word about it."  
  
"He told me not to," he said.   
  
"No, I mean, I get that part. But -- you held on to it. For three years. When you thought you were never gonna see me again."  
  
"He said I would."  
  
"And that was good enough for you?"  
  
"Yeah." He looked down at his beer. "I don't know if I could have left you -- left you both, I mean, and stayed here -- if he hadn't told me that."  
  
She nodded. "But still, I mean, you kept this. You held on to it. Why?" She looked at him searchingly. "I mean, I wasn't even ever sure you  _liked_  the Doctor. I know you never wanted me to go off with him like that."  
  
"That's for sure."  
  
"So -- weren't you ever tempted -- I don't know, to read it? Or to throw it away and never mention it, or -- ?"  
  
"I couldn't -- yeah, okay, I was tempted. But I couldn't have done that to you." He gestured helplessly. "It was yours, you know? He was -- he was yours. It was none of my business."  
  
"But you didn't even have to take it in the first place. You didn't have to do him any favors."  
  
"I wasn't. I was doing  _you_  a favor."  
  
She nodded, leaned over, put her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."  
  
"Yeah, well, you're welcome. That's me, right? Good old reliable Mickey." He sounded resigned and more than a little bitter.  
  
Rose sat up and stared at him for a long moment. "Yes," she said finally. "That's you." She leaned over again. Kissed him on the cheek this time. "My Mickey."  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
She'd show it to him, some day. The psychic paper. But not yet.  
  
She looked at it often over the next few weeks. She kept it with her wherever she went, and when she had a moment to herself, she'd take it out and unfold it and read whatever it said that day, that moment.  
  
 _Back at Woman Wept,_  it said one day.  _It's sun's gone into the next stage. Global warming like you wouldn't believe. All the frozen waves melted, crashing everywhere. Wish you were here._  She liked that one.  
  
Another time it said,  _I got over Reinette. I'll get over you as well._  She stared at those words for the longest time, cried herself to sleep over them that night, and that was when she realized she could read everything he'd  _never_  meant to say, as well.   
  
It was harder to look at, after that.   
  
Another time it said,  _I wish I'd told you my name._    
  
One day it said  _You won't forget me ever, will you? Do you promise?_  and later,  _Forget me, Rose Tyler. Just walk away._  Both in the same day.  
  
It told her everything. She slept with it under her pillow some nights and she'd imagine, some nights, that she could hear a sound, like a quill pen scratching against paper. It soothed her to sleep.  
  
Someday she'd show the paper to Mickey.   
  
But not yet.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
She was spending more time with Mickey, lately. It made sense to her. He was the only person, aside from her mum and Pete, that she really knew here, anyway.  
  
If Jackie thought there was anything more to the two of them spending time together than that -- and Rose suspected she did -- then, for once in her life, she was actually keeping her mouth shut.  
  
The two of them were walking along the Thames one night, not really saying anything. A companionable silence. They never used to be able to do that -- Mickey always used to feel like he had to entertain her, keep her talking, make her laugh. This was -- it was nice. Rose had to admit that.  
  
From somewhere behind them, there was a sudden wheezing, groaning sound --  
  
They both turned to look. But it was just an old bus braking to a stop.  
  
They turned and looked at each other sheepishly. Then they burst out laughing.   
  
After a moment, walking on, Mickey turned to look at her. "You're still waiting for him, aren't you?"  
  
She looked back at him. Instead of answering, she reached into her shirt. She pulled out the chain she was wearing around her neck and showed it to him, looking even more sheepish.  
  
He reached out and touched the pendant. "TARDIS key?"  
  
"TARDIS key." She shrugged.   
  
"I never got one of those." There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. "Rose, listen. You know he's not coming back. He said it was impossible."  
  
She shrugged again. "That's what he said about seeing you again. But here we are."  
  
"Yeah. But I think when he said impossible, this time, he meant impossible."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Rose. I don't wanna see you spend your whole life like this."  
  
 _I don't want to think of you waiting for me on a beach._  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Waiting like this. The waiting can kill you. Believe me."  
  
She stopped. "Are we still talking about me, here?"  
  
He shrugged. "I just know what I'm talking about. That's all."  
  
"Because you were waiting for me to come back? You think that's the same thing?"  
  
"Rose, yes, I think it's the same thing. For a whole year everyone thought you were  _dead_  when you first left, d'you remember that? Do you know I spent a whole year thinking, what if they're right? What if she's gotten herself killed somewhere out there and I never know it? Every single time you went off without me, I thought, what if it happens  _this_  time? What if he never brings her back?"  
  
"You're shaking," she said.  
  
"You know, I used to dream about this? I used to dream he'd bring you back and I'd have you here safe and I'd never have to worry about him taking you away ever again? Well, I didn't want it like this. I didn't. I didn't want you to be -- to be stuck here, I wanted you to come home because you  _wanted_ to, and I knew that was never going to happen, and I'm  _sorry_ ," he said. "I'd bring him back for you if I could. I would. If that'd make you happy. But all I could do was bring you that stupid letter -- " He stopped. "I'm sorry. Just -- just forget it."  
  
"Mickey -- "   
  
"Forget it, I said."  
  
They kept walking. The silence wasn't so pleasant this time.  
  
They ended up back at his flat. The evening was over, apparently.  
  
"Good night," Mickey said, and didn't look at her. He started up the stairs.  
  
"Mickey, don't."  
  
"Don't? Don't what?"  
  
"Walk away like this," she said.  
  
"What else? What d'you expect me to do, Rose?" He turned and stared at her. "I waited for you, Rose. I waited for years. And you're finally right here next to me, I can see you whenever I want, but -- you're still not back. You're still out there with him somewhere, or you want to be, and it's the same thing." He shook his head. "I'm done waiting, Rose."  
  
Rose hesitated. Just for a moment.  
  
"So ask me to come in," she said.  
  
He looked like that was the last thing in the world he expected her to say. The look on his face nearly made her laugh. But she knew better than to do it.  
  
"What do you mean?" he said.  
  
"What do you  _think_  I mean?"  
  
He came back down the stairs. Stood just inches away from her.  
  
"Rose, don't do this," he said.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I'm not -- I'm not him. I'm never gonna be him. I don't want you to do this because, because you're settling for me, or, or you think you can just use me to try to move on, or you're just lonely, or -- for once -- God. Rose." He looked like he might cry, if he let himself. "Just once, I want something to just be about  _me._ "  
  
She reached out and put her hand on his cheek. He put his hand over hers, eyes burning and wet.  
  
"Mickey Smith." Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. "Ask me to come in."  
  
Mickey nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice no louder than hers. "All right."  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
She'd forgotten.  
  
Forgotten how easy this was, like breathing. She'd forgotten the feel of his hipbone under her hand, forgotten the way his breath would catch. The way the curves of their bodies just  _fit,_  like puzzle pieces. The way his hand would find hers and lock their fingers tight together.  
  
She'd forgotten all of it. She liked being reminded.  
  
Crumpled in the pocket of her discarded jeans was a magic piece of paper from a distant star in some other sky.  
  
If she'd taken it out that night, she'd have seen that it read simply:  
  
 _Rose Tyler. Have a fantastic life._  
  
But she never did. And by morning, the words had faded, like fairy gold.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
Months later:  
  
"Rose Smith?"  
  
She looked up. "Yes?"  
  
"You're all set. Here are your boarding passes. Seat 17E and 17F on the Skyliner  _Victoria._  Departure gate twelve."  
  
"Cheers," Rose said, taking the paperwork and walking back to their seats in the waiting lounge.  
  
She handed Mickey his pass. "There you go, Mickey Tyler," she said, shaking her head. "I swear, these are the worst code names ever."  
  
He grinned. "But easy to remember, yeah?"  
  
She looked out the window at the huge dirigibles docked outside. "I still can't believe we're doing this," she said. "I swore you'd never get me up in one of these things."  
  
"I know. I remember. I was in a car with you all the way to Norway because you wouldn't go up in one, remember?"  
  
"Why can't they just have planes here?"  
  
"What's wrong with dirigibles?"  
  
"Spoken like a man who's never hung from one on a rope while being shot at." She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it along behind her. "Come on, we've got less than ten minutes."  
  
"Sure, babe."  
  
She looked around at the other people in the terminal. The sight of the huge airliners outside was an everyday sight to them. They looked bored. This was all still new to her. Everything about this world was new to her. She forgot that, sometimes.   
  
"I still can't believe we're doing this," she said again.  
  
"What did you think was gonna happen when we started working for Torchwood?" he said. "That we were gonna be stuck behind a desk all day?"  
  
She shook her head and grinned. She thought of the tickets inside her suitcase -- her itinerary, the fake passports, everything. It was insane. Their first stop was Kenya. Someone in a village there had found a metal disk about three feet across that hovered persistently about a foot off the ground. _Probably alien,_  their briefing had said. Torchwood wanted their newest field agents to confirm it. And there was more, a half-dozen artifacts scattered over three continents.  
  
"You know, it's funny," she said, as she they walked toward the loading gangway.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Traveling with the Doctor, I never really thought about it," she said. "I mean, I got to see dozens of alien worlds, yeah? But I never  _really_  got to see them, I mean, not like this. We'd just breeze in and look around and then swan off again. We never stayed anywhere long enough, never slowed down. It was like -- like going to Paris just long enough to go to one gift shop." She laughed.  
  
"I've been to Paris," Mickey said. "It's not bad."  
  
"Yeah? Think we'll go there sometime?"  
  
"We might."  
  
They were on the dirigible, now, and Rose held Mickey's hand tight as they found their seats. He put their luggage away and they sat down.  
  
"You all right?" he said.  
  
"I'm all right," she said.  
  
This wasn't a TARDIS. They weren't going off to other planets, other times.  
  
They just had one world, and one lifetime to see it in. And that was going to be enough.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
She took the slightly psychic paper with her, of course. Thought about the Doctor.  _Wish you were here._  Hoped he could read her words.  
  
But there was one thing she left behind.  
  


*     *     *     *

  
  
From the Torchwood archive of alien artifacts:  
  
Catalog #TRD0580:  
Metallic object. Key-shaped.   
One and seven-eighths inches long. Three ounces.   
Exact composition: unknown.   
Provenance: unknown.  
Case file: closed.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on July 16, 2006. I didn't think the series was going to bring back Rose Tyler after "Doomsday," and I wanted to give her a happier ending. This was one of two approaches I took to this idea, the other being my story "And Dismantle The Sun."


End file.
